


Brothers-in-Arms

by Impreciselanguage



Category: Marvel Comics, X-Men
Genre: Anti-Semitism alluded to, Gen, Holocaust, Some adult language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 20:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20233720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impreciselanguage/pseuds/Impreciselanguage
Summary: Erik wants to bury his past, Cain is trying to find his.





	Brothers-in-Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly Comics Canon Compliant (if that means anything). Some aspects of X-Men: First Class used, though it should be noted that the Schmidt mentioned here is a separate person from the Sebastian Shaw in the movies, but shares the same backstory with Erik.

There were no photographs, no keepsakes. No tangible reminders. Nothing but the coin he’d carried with him for years; a threat. A promise. That particular reminder he’d finally forced through Schmidt’s skull, inch by inch, leaving both lying behind him in that South American room. Like most things, the past was best left buried.

This was something Xavier had never understood. Could never understand.

Erik had liked the other man, prematurely bald as Erik was prematurely silver. Had liked him, but could see right away that they’d had vastly divergent experiences. They had both known horrors, yet Charles had been a combatant, a soldier, a man – his dead were brothers-in-arms, enemies, strangers. Horrors, yes, but not cut deep into his soul. Different enough that he could still believe in goodness, in redemption.

Perhaps it was that Charles was on his mind, finding the recent memory less scarred-over, easier to revisit, that Erik’s attention was caught by someone mentioning the name in the crowded souk. Though the American accent would have been enough, so out-of-place in the Moroccan city. Erik turned. The American was huge, redheaded, taking up more than his share of space, notably sun-burnt and obviously American.

For a moment, Erik hesitated. Had the man truly said the name ‘Xavier’? Did Erik actually care?  
“Excuse me.” Erik moved to the towering man. “Did I hear you right? You’re asking for Xavier? Would that be Charles Xavier?”  
The man scowled down at him. Not a friend of Charles’, it seemed. “Yeah, that’s right. You know where to find him?”  
“Last I knew, he was in Israel.” Erik glanced around the crowd. He and the huge American were the only two white men, and even covered, Erik’s silver hair and the man’s near seven-feet were drawing attention. “It might be easier to continue speaking in a less crowded place. I could buy you a drink, Mister…?”

“Marko.”  
The name was a surprise. “Polish?”  
“Could be,” the man replied. “Sure, I’ll take that drink.” The crowd parted before the man like the Red Sea, ducking through the door into a hotel bar. People turned to stare up at him as he entered. Amused, Erik followed after, ordering two drinks at the counter.

“What was your name?” Marko asked, astonishingly able to settle his massive frame on one of the barstools.  
“Erik Lehnsherr.”  
“Cain Marko. So, what was Charlie doing in Israel? He’s not Jewish.”  
“I’m aware.” Erik’s tone was dry. Marko hadn’t spat the word, or used a slur. Erik had known Markos who had been in the camps, and those who had not. Not that this man would know anything about that, nor was he responsible for anything his quite distant relatives may have done. “As for what goy Charles was doing in Israel, if he’s not there still, I believe he was attempting to make up some displaced guilt from his own war.” 

“So.” Marko took a long drink. “He mention what he was feeling so guilty about?”  
“Not specifically.” He might have, if Erik had encouraged that sort of sharing. There had been moments, when Charles hadn’t been with Gabrielle, that he had been on the precipice of opening up. Erik had done his best to change the subject. “You were in Korea with him, I’m thinking?”  
“You the same as him?”  


It was not the response Erik had expected. For a moment, he wondered just what it was that Marko was getting at. Suspected he knew. “Charles and I are very different men,” Erik replied, finally. “His family owns a mansion, for instance. You could look for him there, in New York state.”  
“I know about the mansion,” Marko grumbled. “Charlie really never mentioned me?”  
“Should he have?”  
“I grew up in that mansion,” Marko said. “Charlie’s my stepbrother.”  


It would surely not be the best response to say that Charles had never mentioned a stepbrother. Not wanting to unearth his own family, Erik had not given much thought to anyone else’s.  
“Charlie’s some kinda freak,” Marko added, after a moment, slamming his cup down on the tiled countertop.  
“I take it you’re not on good terms with your stepbrother.” Erik was almost certain the other man knew about Charles’ telepathic abilities. The question now was, what was he going to do about it.  


“You could say that.” Marko ordered another drink. “Fucker left me for dead.”  
“I see.” Erik considered this, sipped his own beer. It was strong, possibly Egyptian, infinitely better than German. “What are you intending to do about it?”  
“You worried I’m gonna kill him?” Marko shrugged. “Thought about it. Yeah, I thought about how sweet it’d be to snap that bastard’s spine. Don’t think it’ll make anything better, not afterward. I just want what’s mine.”  
“I think you’ve been thinking about this long enough that you’ve grown …” Erik considered the stupidity of calling this giant a coward. “Wise.” Not that he wanted Charles dead, of course. Whether or not this man had a valid grudge against Xavier, Erik knew well enough that there were things that happened during war and grief that went beyond the rational.  


“Wise. Huh.” Marko shook his head. “Still want to teach that little freak a lesson.” He drained his second cup and set it on the counter. “Israel, huh?”  
Erik nodded, hoping that he hadn’t just sent his former friend’s destruction straight to him.


End file.
